


The Pakhar and the Prisoner

by Professor_river_who



Series: Five times the Doctor shows River he loves her and the one time she believes him [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7713349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_river_who/pseuds/Professor_river_who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River is on a rescue mission, space ships are crashing and the Sontaren's are out for revenge. Trust you know who to turn up after a three-year hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of ships and Sontarans

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended these stories to be short, however, they insist on taking on a life of their own. 
> 
> Who am I to argue?
> 
> Previously called Hampsters in Space - rubbish title 
> 
> Inspired by the line from River's Diary shown the Eternity clock.  
> "Pakhar. Hamster people. Let me… Just… Hamster. People."

The gold shell of the bullet glints in the florescent lights of the ships corridor, cutting through the air as it rotates counter clockwise. Like a homicidal wasp being sucked up backwards through the tube of vacuum cleaner. It hums, then abruptly changes direction. It glances off the head of a Sontaran and continues towards the jagged metal fragments that were formally the vessels hull. River braces herself against the door and wedges her left heel into the intercostal space between the ships floorboards. Pivoting she fires a spray of meson burst into the void and curses under her breath as a return volley forces her to retreat.

"Probability of non-survival 89.2%. Navigation systems, offline. Propulsion systems, offline. Life support systems, failing. Recommend, immediate evacuation," the automatic avoidance announcement system states for the fourth time in as many minutes.

"Yes, yes! Must you always be so negative?" River mutters kicking the body of second Lft. Grover out of the way and tapping irritably at the control panel.

Sabotaging the ship had been simple. One schematic of the ships air-handling units; one carefully placed canister, one perfectly executed controlled explosion.

Simple, had it not been for the Sontaren scavenging fleet boarding at the precise moment the shields went down. And what for? There was nothing the potato-headed thugs would find valuable on this ship. It didn't provide a strategic advantage, wasn't weaponised. The only thing they could possibly be looking for, was her.

Retrospectively, challenging the Sontaren commander to a shooting match had been a mistake. It was hardly her fault that the squat metal clad vegetable had taken her superior skill as an act of war against the empire. It may have been her fault when she instructed him, in elaborate and colourful detail, how he could be baked; topped with tuna and would be delicious with a small twist of lemon. But honestly, how was a girl supposed to resist such an easy target? She hadn't even needed to waste ammunition. After that it had become a matter of principle, they principally wanted her existence to cease, she principally disagreed. It was all a little tedious really.

Rivers hand reflectively tenses on her blaster. Aiming at the door controls she fires a single shot into the mechanism forcing the emergency override system to seal the room. At least that bought her a little time. Searching the fallen body at her feet she plucks a keycard from his top left pocket and flips it over. Intricate swirls and slots are carved into the metal identifying it as a command key. She pockets it; he wouldn't need it anytime soon.

"Open this door in the name of the Sontaran empire," a low voice rumbles from the other side of the metal hatch. Did they really think that was going to work?

"Well, since you seem to have misplaced your manners I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline," she sasses back” better luck next time."

Beneath the belly of the ship, something moved. The sound reverberated through the tunnels; a low, deep, scratching, like a fridge being pulled across a chalk board. If she didn't speed up this entire exercise was going to be futile and both her and the Pakhar trapped in the cargo bay were going to die. Die spectacularly of course but she would much rather avoid that.

As far as jobs went this hardly the strangest, but the Pakhar's had been rather persuasive and she was in desperate need of some new shoes. Stormcage was damp, rubber perished and running in heels wasn’t particularly good for even wearing of the sole. Yes, she could have popped back a few centuries, deposited a few credits in a high-interest account on Atraxis and lived off the interest but where was the fun in that. The fact that the Pakhar were a race of hamster people probably had something to do with it as well. Amy had a hamster when they were growing up. A light brown Russian Dwarf with a mullet that Rory had threatened to replicate, probably due the amount of attention "The Doctor" received from the both of them. 

Poor Rory. 

During the Pond family vacation she had looked after him, made sure he had water, fed him some sunflower seeds. 

Then she lost four days.

The hamster died. 

Amy had cried herself to sleep, so had she, but not for the loss of the hamster. 

There were other reasons she took the job too, not that she would admit them to anyone, certainly not herself.

It took her a few seconds to notice the change in the room. The air became denser, as if a hundred thousand electrons had decided to phase into this version of reality, it tingled across her skin and held a faint metallic taste. Small wispy pattern of silver and gold swirled in the air as the TARDIS phased into reality on the other side of the room. She glances towards it, sighs, and continues searching the command room. Perhaps if she ignores him he will go away.

His lanky frame ejects itself from the door as if assisted by an invisible springboard that only responds to his biological material, a flash of red and a mountain of tweed. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Environmental checks, why was he so opposed to performing environmental checks? Two minutes earlier and his head would have been in the direct path of a...

"River? What are you doing here?" Oh great, so much for the futile hope of momentary invisibility. She doesn’t look at him.

“Little busy right now for twenty questions sweetie,” Sparks of blaster fire splinter like Roman candles from beneath the door. That gets his attention.

He hoists himself up from the floor, hair falling across his eyes, sonic already in his left hand. He glances over his shoulder as she studiously punches codes into the waste disposal override system.

"But people are shooting at you!" he waves his sonic around the hatch, she has no idea why. It's already as secure as it's going to get, she supposed he's trying to useful. Circumstances being what they are.

"I'd hardly call them people." More like munchkins with an attitude problem. "But yes, very astute of you dear. Good to know your eyesight’s not failing. Now, if you doing mind I'm kind of busy." It's typical of him to turn up really; spaceships falling out the sky have always attracted his attention, moths, flames, and all that nonsense.

"Busy?" He's approaching mild panic now, she can tell by the wild-eyed furtive looks he's throwing over his shoulder. She sighs and shakes her head in his general direction, he has the TARDIS she has her vortex manipulator they're hardly in danger at all. He has that kicked puppy look, the look that accuses her of getting into trouble without his consent. It's tiresome.

"Yeeesss, b-u-s-y," she drawls, hoping that slowing down her normal cadence may somehow produce enough resonance to penetrate his thick skull.

"With things that don't concern you. So why don't you go enjoy some crocheting lessons or find your own spaceship to crash." She pulls at a bunch of wires under the console and a satisfactory shower of sparks arch across the unit. The hatch on the opposite side of the room slides open and she marches towards it.

The Doctor spins around almost tripping over his feet in the process, slack-jawed and confused. He canters after her like a newly born gazelle.

“River?” She rolls her eyes.

“Either shut up and make yourself useful or disappear, your choice.“ she snaps, attempting to launch fireballs through her eyes, or disable him through some sort of residual latent psychic connection.

"But..."

No such luck then. She really is out of practice.

"Shush." She places a manicured nail to his lips momentarily rendering him mute. At least he still responded well to blatantly obvious gestures. She makes a mental note.

Tiny fragments of metal fall from the sealed door, it seemed like the Sontaran was finally using his head for something useful. His eyes drift towards the sound and she takes the opportunity to study his features without being subjected to the same scrutiny. The lines under his eyes are deeper than the last time she saw him. Faint whispers of grey are evident around his temples, even though he still looks like a twelve-year-old. She wonders how long it has been for him; a few days, weeks, a month maybe. Certainly not three years.

She should slap him.

Right in his panicked face, but what would be the point? It wouldn't make him understand, he never would.

She wonders if he knows that she never got used to the sound of thunder, or that sometimes she still feels like she's being watched or that when she was ten her imaginary friend told her to kill people. But no, of course he doesn't. They never talked about things like that.

She knows the shape of their story. The hero isn't the one who gets their hearts desire. It's the one who makes the sacrifice. She just didn't anticipate the sacrifice to be forgotten so easily. Still, taking her hand away she can't help but brush it against his bottom lip before tucking it back inside her fist.

“Massive, gigantic heat signals coming from below deck, far too large to be Sontaren or human,” he whispers conspiratorially, flicking the settings on his sonic over. He places a hand on her shoulder; she shrugs and twists dislodging it. There’s work to be done and a hamster creature to save and, as the incessant and thoroughly annoying warning system keeps reminding her, about fifteen minutes left until the ship is compacted against Kylos 3 and resembles the outcome of fight between an articulated lorry and frying pan .

“I’m more than capable of conducting my own research, it’s a Pakhar, it’s trapped, and I’m going to rescue it.” She plants herself in front of him; head on, trying to get his attention. No such luck.

“Hamster people! I love the hamster people, rather large, but cute. Cute in a fearsome, large tooth, hairy way. Slight overbite, did I tell you about the time I almost married one? Henrietta, or at least I think it was almost, was a little distracted at the time. Henrietta the hamster girl, how cool is that?”

So he’s in over excitable teenager mode, lovely. Nothing for it but to carry on as normal and hope he doesn’t get himself killed then.

Walking towards the hatch she actually hears him spin around on the spot wondering where she’s got to. Checking the power settings on her blaster and grabbing the top of the waste disposal hatch she launches herself down the shoot. He’ll follow; there isn’t a chance in hell that he won’t.

The sound of his “Geronimo” preceded him and he arrives at her feet looking like his hair has been attacked by a small errant tornado. River shakes her head.  
"Impossible idiot," but a smile reaches her eyes as she takes his had and drag him to his feet.

"So, giant hamster below, attacking Sontarens above, assuming you have a plan. Or a thing. Or a thing that could turn into a plan. Or a..." He's too busy talking and staring at his shoe-laces to notice the approaching sound of metal clad footsteps. Plucking his sonic from his wildly gesturing hands she unlocks the nearest service hatch and in one swift motion, fingers curled around his bow tie, drags him neck first after her.

"River!" His arms flail dramatically, eyes darting from her chest to the grate.

Clueless, absolutely clueless and a liability to boot. She hadn't spent all this time pretending she had killed him for him to end up dead anyway. The universe has it in for her. It's the only plausible explanation. To hell with possible paradoxes, she may just have to take a quick trip and tell herself not to bother. This job is turning out to be more hassle than it's worth.

He stops fidgeting and looks poignantly at his shirt sleeve, as if he's surprised that it's still in contact with his skin. His eyes raise to find her ignoring him, navigating a three-dimensional hologram of the ship that casts a blue glow along the corridor. She's thin, thinner than he has ever seen her, all sharp angles, and light bounces off her collarbones in unfamiliar patterns. She looks tired, she looks like she's been running. He doesn't mention it.

The footsteps fade away into the distance.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wood? Who builds a wooden door on a spaceship?" His hands brace against the grain and his eyes slide shut as if he can somehow forge a telepathic link and change the molecular structure of the damn thing.

"How many times?" River rolls her eyes, grabs him by the lapels and deposits his protesting form against the corridor wall.

"Oi! I'm getting round to it. Wood's complicated. You can't just program the sonic for wood," He starts listing the complexities of Yew and Oak, Pine and Premerainian flat root.

"I've never found it hard to get wood to comply," she says, gently extracting her earring and straightening the curve into a long thin point.

"Generally-" she bends down and assesses the lock. 

"I find that with careful manipulation-" she feeds the makeshift pick into the lock and places her ear against the mechanism. 

"And a little bit of talent," she glanced up at him and he stops talking.

"And a little pressure in just the right place -" she captures her bottom lip between her teeth. He pulls his bow tie away from his collar.

"You can normally-" closing her eyes she feels the final pin click into place and twists the pick.

"Achieve the desired result." raising an eyebrow she stands and presses her back to the door, swings it open, and steps inside. The tips of his ears have turned a delightful shade of pink. At least he's now providing a useful purpose.

It's an immutable fact that when faced with a decision that requires immediate action, and little thought as to the consequences of said action, the Doctor is an idiot. He doesn't hesitate, feet moving seemingly without interference from any higher functioning synaptic impulses. His vision narrows to a glint of polished grey metal, River, and the barrel of a Sontaren blaster pointed at her chest. He raises his sonic in the air, fingers moving deftly to alter its setting and launches himself towards her.

Brandishing her blaster River took aim fixing her eyes on the target she inhaled adding pressure to the grip sensitive trigger point. The blaster clicked; charge building as subatomic particles split and reconstituted cracking steadily. She exhaled, shifting her weight onto her front leg for leverage in anticipation of Newton's third law and pressed the trigger.

The pulse erupted from the blaster illuminating the darkened cargo bay with sparkles of green energy. The Sontaten’s eyes went wide, pupils contracting momentarily before the blast hit.

River rocked backwards, meeting an object of considerable alternative force as the Doctor’s torso careered into her back and hands circled her waist.   

The Sontaren dropped, helmet splintering as it collided with the floor, the same floor River found herself on a second later, the doctor’s chin nestled in her hair. The room silent, save a slow rhythmic background squeak.

“Are you insane? What am I saying, of course you insane! " She says, rolling on her side to dislodge him and getting to her feet.

He lifts a finger in protest “I prefer differently wired.”

"What did you think you were going to do? Sonic it to death?"

"I was going for disarmament actually," he huffs scratching the back of his head and looking up at her.

He's trying to be gallant, trying to do what he always does, save people. She's acutely aware of that, not that it helps. It’s an obligation, some cosmic debt he feels like he owes the universe, owes her, but it's not what she wants. She doesn't need a knight in tweed brandishing a sonic sword, she just needs him. But it's something he's never been able to give, never will be able to give. She leaves him lying there and heads towards the noise that continues its constant squeaking rhythm in the darkened room.

 

The structure takes up the full back wall. Metal bars fixed through the hull of the ship. It stood as tall as a three-story building, a Ferris wheel welded together with the capsules removed. Power cables stretch along its central pivot point running to consoles that monitored output, voltage, and amplitude. Harnessed to the machine was the Pakhar. Hands moving from bar to bar, face fixed in concentration as it ran and yet never moved. The wheel turned, joints straining under the torque.

She feels him come and stand behind her. Anger radiating from his skin like a star in supernova. He places a palm on the small of her back. River closes her eyes, feels it sear her skin.

"He's in a cage and doesn't deserve to be," she says softly "There was no real decision to make." She answers a question he doesn't ask, stepping forward and inserting the pilfered master key into the mechanism. The machine falters as the restraints holding the Pakhar in place fall away. Metal grinds on metal as the forward momentum ceases, the lights dip, warning alerts litter the control panel as a backup generator kicks in and the cage door clicks open. 

River watches as the shoulders of the creature drop, chest heaving as he staggers like a child suddenly brought to an abrupt halt on a merry-go-round. Unable to keep balance he staggers and collapses against the bars. River reaches out a hand placing it on the bars, it’s obvious he’s in no condition to move. The original plan had been to escape by shuttle but that’s no longer an option. She juggles figures in her head, calculating force, mass, leverage and the angular momentum that would be required to move him before reconsidering her options. She almost forgets that the Doctor is there.

“River, you’re hurt,” he says and she jumps at the contact as he reaches for her. His eyes snag on the needle like shard of metal protruding from just beneath her left rib, a fragment of the Sontaren helmet embedded in her skin. 

She looks down and plucks it out with the degree of contempt a three-year-old reserves for Brussel sprouts and discards it on the floor. She hadn’t even noticed it was there. 

“Stating the obvious aren’t we?” Her eyes touch his momentarily. 

“I need to borrow the TARDIS,” she says. It’s not a question, she’s already typing spatial co-ordinates into the vortex manipulator. 

A moment later he’s standing alone in a cargo bay with only a giant hamster and his thoughts for company.


	2. Double trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn him and his ability to hold their future over her like a guillotine. One wrong move, one secret revealed too soon, and disaster for the both of them. Her future and his past, sacrosanct, like a drawing in ink. Right now she doesn’t care.

“Gone, what do you mean gone?”

For once he’s fairly sure the question is hypothetical and remains uncharacteristically silent.

“Its a 11ft hamster! I don’t care how much time you spent with David Copperfield. It can’t just disappear,”

Rivers heels squeal on the toughened glass floor and the TARDIS lights dip in response. 

“Funny you mention Copperfiled, marvellous with a mirror, so was Hudidni come to that. Doyle just refused to believe it, suborn spiritualist. Do you know he accused me of being some sort of magical spirit?” 

‘Don’t change the subject. Pakhur. Gone. Where?’

He’s not normally like this, reluctant to divulge how he has managed to pull off a feat that should have been almost impossible. His silence on the matter is more than a little suspicious. The Doctor lies, and when he can’t think of a convincing lie fast enough he evades. She knows his tricks, has adopted some of them into her own repertoire and under normal circumstances she would play along. These, however, are hardly normal circumstances. He’s attempting to misdirect her attention and this time she isn’t going to let him.

“I was gone for two minutes, at most.” 

The Doctor glances at the floor but doesn’t move. He hadn’t protested when she failed to relinquish control of his ship, hadn’t attempted to take over. He didn’t seem surprised when she materialised the TARDIS around him and the absent Pakhur and had an insufferable look of tolerance plastered on his face. Definitely hiding something and she doubted it was a miniaturised hamster in his pocket. Even he had limits. 

Flipping a switch to send the TARDIS into the vortex she glances towards him and for a brief moment considers running. Using her vortex manipulator to escape. She could find the Pakher on her own, blow the consequences. It couldn’t be worse than anything she has had to deal with before. 

“Spoilers,” he says shaking his head, almost to himself and in that moment she resents him. She forces the locking lever into place pausing them mid-flight and the ship lurches to an abrupt stop.

“I hate that word. Don't you dare use that line on me.” Her hands grip the lever, knuckles complaining under the strain before considering it a poor substitute for his neck, especially when his neck is in such close proximity. 

“Spoilers aren't going to cut it this time. You think you have possession of one magical word, one word that Instantly grants forgiveness? ” Advancing towards him her hand hovers over the vortex manipulator attached to her wrist

“Not this time.’ Damn him and his ability to hold their future over her like a guillotine. One wrong move, one secret revealed too soon, and disaster for the both of them. Her future and his past, sacrosanct, like a drawing in ink. Right now she doesn’t care. 

“Where's the damn hamster?" she asks again, her voice low and guttural. Stopping in front of him she jams her hands into her jacket pockets attempting to confine her contempt to the stitches of the garment.

“I’m going to find out sooner or later," she tries again proffering a flirtatious tone as her nails gouge at the pocket lining.

The Doctor remains silent, his hand twitches as if to reach out to her. Try and tether her to this moment, to this stolen piece of time that is so precious to him; but he can’t. He can’t because telling her the truth would be too damaging, and not just to her. He can’t because so much of their time together is built on these moments. He can't because the faster he moves through space the slower he moves through time, and he’s been running for so long just to get to her.

River drops the act, it was a long shot anyway. The irony isn't lost on her, using silence against her is perhaps the cruellest combat method he could employ. His bow tie appears to be smirking at her and it that instant she thinks he knows exactly what he's doing. Knows how to get under her carefully constructed shields and the memories crash to the forefront of her consciousness like a car tyres on black ice. 

The relentless storm of faces peak out from the darkness of her subconscious; hollow eyes that she falls into, me forgetting, remembering, each action painful. They had worn the mask of memory, diluting it and injecting it into her blood stream so that fragments of hatred and fear were deposited like debris in her heart. They still resided there in quiet moments, the space between each breath, each rush of adrenalin, each moment of stillness. River had worked long and hard to push these images into her subconscious. Locking them away in a distant part of her brain was much easier than dealing with them, but now they pushed forward and she tasted the metallic tang of blood in the back of her throat. She felt the ghost like pain in her knees and elbows as they tore on concrete; her palms itched at the memory of conglomerate rock, jagged edges pushing into the beds of her finger-nails, yet she kept on climbing. Then she would wake, and silence would fall, and she would be alone. 

Opening her eyes she levels him with a stare "You have been nothing but a hindrance since you showed up.” 

“Well, I didn't mean to show up!” His runaway mouth proffers as an excuse.

“Oh, now I get a truthful answer. You didn't intend to,” 

He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot and inwardly berates his future wife for failing to provide a few pointers should this situation arise. It wouldn’t have hurt. “Well you know how these things happen. I was heading for zygote 6 and... missed a bit.”

“And ruined my day,” 

“I wouldn't put it quite like that,” 

“No.” She lifts a brow at him unfazed. “How would you put it exactly?” 

His lips purse for a moment “Surprise visit ?” he offers.

River huffs, shakes her head and bringing both hands from her pockets presses the button to engage her vortex manipulator. The TARDIS wheezes slightly and River stays where she is. Narrowing her eyes at him she glances down and tries again; same effect.

“Really? You too?” she says to the ship before tearing the device from her wrist and depositing it unceremoniously on the floor, the clash of metal on metal reverberating around he control room. She’s been caged for too long. A prisoner is a space suit, a prisoner to her own memories; a prisoner to time, to Stormcage and now it appears a prisoner in the TARDIS. It’s too much, “Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone to come to your sense.” Shaking her head and shooting a look of contempt towards the console she leaves the control room.

“Well that went well,” the doctor patts the railing. The TARDIS remains silent.

 

Ten minutes earlier…

 

He finds It’s quite disconcerting when she leaves the breaks off. One minute he’s standing there and the next he’s in the control room. He wouldn't dare tell her but reluctantly admits to himself she is the better driver. The Pakhur seems to be unfazed though, so at least that’s something. 

“Hello Sweetie,” It takes him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the lighting. A few more for his brain to register the broad smile that permeates the familiar greeting. River is standing before him, but not the River left a few moments earlier. He can tell from the way she holds herself, confident but relaxed at the console, shoulders devoid of tension. 

“River?”

“Who else were you expecting?”

“Well, you but. What have you done ?”

“I haven’t done anything, just popped out to get sugar and somehow ended up here,” she taps a few buttons on the console, swiveling the monitor round to bring it into view “ I think someone’s playing games,” she runs a hand affectionately across the console and the TARDIS purrs in response.

“But it’s all, different. And you changed the round things!” 

“Oh,” River turns from the monitor and notices the 11ft Pakher in the corner of the control room. “You know you never did tell me how you managed it,” 

“Managed what?” Somehow this conversation is getting away from him, but he can hardly be blamed for his lapse in concentration. River, his River is standing in front of him and all he wants to do is move towards her, thread a hand into her hair and press his lips to hers. 

“Alright, I’ll take it from here.” She glances at the monitor and then to the Pakher “We’ve got about two minutes by my estimation,”

The Doctor shakes himself “But, you can’t just take him… you’ll be furious,” he starts gesticulating wildly 

"No I won't, I'll be livid," She offers him a dazzling smile, then by way of consolidation “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Pressing seven buttons in seemingly random order on the console she pulls a lever and the Pakhar vanishes. 

“I’ll come with you,” 

“Trying to escape from me by running away with me? Oh, that is so very doctor,” she chides, not unkindly. 

“I can’t believe you're enjoying this!"

“Can’t go interfering with my own time line, where would that get us?” 

“But you’re already annoyed with me.” He tries one last time.

Taking pity on him she strays from the console she walks towards him. Standing in front of him she pauses, seemingly noticing him properly for the first time. Her eyes catch on his bow tie and she instinctively reaches out a hand to smooth a slightly folded edge. Her eyes raise to his and she places a hand on his jaw letting her thumb traces a line from chin to ear. Her eyes find his and he forgets to breathe. Her hand slides into his hair, soft strands slipping through her fingers and she pauses a moment as if she’s surprised by the texture she finds there. He remembers the function his lungs normally perform and takes a large shuddering breath as she leans forward and whispers in his ear. “Time to go Doctor,” he hears the distinct noise of a sonic screwdriver calling a remote function on the TARDIS and the ship begins to fade around him. 

“I hate you,” he says to her silhouette as she softly disappears leaving her voice on the tail end of the vortex echoing in the cargo bay. 

“No, you don’t sweetie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that these updates take so long and thank you for all the comments. They really do brighten my day.


	3. Piers and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Melody, feels so strange calling you that. It's... I was reading baby care books eight months ago. They're still...’ he waves in the general direction of the TARDIS.

She hadn't intended to stop here. It would have been easy to elude him in the shifting corridors and endless rooms of the ship. River had often walked past the ridiculous Victorian fairground attraction without any consideration at all, always somewhere else with a greater pull. Today however, something had caught her eye.

The wood is rough under her fingers, surprising considering the entire structure is essentially his imagination made solid by virtue of the TARDIS. She wonders if it was by design or a byproduct of some errant thought he had at the time, a transfer of texture as his hand unconsciously brushed over scratchy tweed. Perhaps it was the flag that fluttered despite the absence of wind or the familiar pepper pot shape. Maybe it was just the height. Large flat-headed iron rods fixed each length to the tapering structure, circles made from straight lines. Her father would have said something's about square pegs and round holes, about it being typical, fitting. 

He had tried to warn her, like all fathers try to warn their daughters, about falling in love with the wrong man. Falling for the one person he thought dangerous, the one person he didn't approve of. 

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

The squat seagull slept, his quota of pilfered chips having been reached he had positioned himself under the Pier. The tide having long since began its meandering journey back towards the shore perhaps it felt safe there. Away from potential ground-based attacks from children with missile like spades shaped like tridents spear. Genetically imprinted memory, River mused crouching down to slid her feet under the railings of the Pier head. In years to come, health and safety initiatives would insist on netting being placed here to prevent such an action. Perhaps a toddler slipped on the wet wood and tumbled into the ocean below, the waves consuming the child until all that could be seen was a brightly coloured chewed pacifier buoyant enough to make a makeshift gravestone. 

Perhaps it didn’t. 

Looking over her shoulder she watched Amy and the Doctor building sandcastles, apparently it was mandatory when on a beach. Apparently, a regular bucket and spade wasn’t producing fast enough results and, with a little sonicing, he had altered the dimensions of said regular bucket to hold eight times more sand. Quite a crowd had gathered when huge sandcastles started appearing from the small innocuous looking bucket and she had slipped away. 

Hooking both arms over the middle railing she inched forwards, biceps tensed, holding her in place as her legs followed by her torso slid closer to the waves below. She hung there suspended as the muscles in her arms started to burn, the metal bar pressing into her chest. She pointed her toes, her own genetic impulses taking over. - In the event of entry into an expanse of water, it is advisable to cause as little friction as possible and minimise the surface area of impact - her body said. 

‘Uhh, don’t jump.’ said a familiar voice to her left. River smiled and lowered herself slowly back down onto the battered decking. 

‘Hello Dad,’ She felt the planks underneath her shift as he cautiously approached and attempted to sit down next to her whilst balancing two ice cream cones in one hand, both threatening to topple. Leaning back River unburdened him before disaster could befall the situation. He grumbled his thanks, something about how ice cream cones had the completely wrong balance compared to tempered steel. She was fairly sure he didn't see the smile that crept up on her face. 

'So, not joining in with the fort building then?' He nudges her shoulder cautiously with one of his own. She passes him back an ice cream and shrugs. 

'He seems to have the situation in hand.' Turning the cone she bites off the bottom and sucks the ice cream through the waffle collapsing the piped structure on top into intricate creamy concentric circles with pinpoint accuracy.  
  Rory watched her. He had seen Mells do the same thing many times but on River, on his daughter, the act looked strange; out of place, out of time. 

“Something bothering you?” She turned the cone upside-down and used her tong to flatten the top. Pushing the remaining contents into the gaps. 

Perhaps that’s what regeneration is like, Rory though. All the bits of a person get pulled down and the gaps have to be smoothed over. 

‘Uhh, shouldn't I be the one asking you that?.’ 

She looks away, across the bay waves kiss the shore stealing grains of sand depositing them on other shores; unseen and uncared about.

'Well I mean you're River, and you're Mells but you're Melody. I know Mells, I sort of know River but. How much can I tell you?'

'I suppose he would say Spoilers,'

'It's so confusing. '

'I'm still me you know. I remember hide and seek. I know the sort of car you have always wanted. I remember the nights you lectured me about the possibility of long-term incarceration. Spot on by the way, if the miniature death ray men have their way with me.'

'Yeah, sorry about that.' He looks down at the large dollop of ice cream now seeping through his jeans and swipes at it with a finger. 

'My choice, no harm done in the end,' she says simply, biting a chunk of ice cream infused cone from the bottom and plugging the hole with her thumb. 

'Is it though? Is it your choice?' He says not really expecting an answer. Shifting to face her he props an elbow over the metal bar. She raises an eyebrow. 

'Melody, feels so strange calling you that. It's... I was reading baby care books eight months ago. They're still...’ he waves in the general direction of the TARDIS. 

River nods and remains silent. Not normally given to episodes of seeming tongue tied she tries to find the right words. The correct phrase to rewrite everything that has gone before, the one that gives them a normal father-daughter relationship; but it doesn't exist, never will. She had given them all she was able to, pity it wasn't enough. 

Rory clears his throat, sits up a little straighter. And through the slight sunburn on his pale skin and the steadily dripping ice cream cone she can see the centurion. The father that faced down a legion of cyber men just to find her; the man who loves her mother more than he loves life itself. The man who travels; not for the adventure, not for the thrill, just so he can protect her. And it breaks her heart, because she can't be the little girl. Can't be the one in need of protection, can't be what he needs her to be. So she gives him the next best thing, does what she can to make herself small.  
She drops a hand to the deck and clutches the floor, the imbalance resulting in improper posture; forcing her to constantly redistribute her weight to remain seated. She wills her core muscles to relax feeling the strain in her thighs instead. She looks up at him, looking up to him never having been a problem. She can give him that much. The allusion, however brief, that she still needs him.

'Dad?' 

He’s still not really paying attention to the conversation or the cone that has seemingly sprung a leak and started to produce a stream of dairy produce down his thumb. His mind flicks between possibility and promise, of what he feels he should do and what he knows he shouldn’t. He want’s to tell her that she doesn’t have to do this. Doesn’t have to be River Song, doesn’t have to fall for the man in the blue box that landed on the lawn one day and changed his life forever. 

What if River hadn’t got the transporter working, would Amy exist? If she hadn’t left her calling card though they wouldn’t have been caught in that situation in the first place. What if River wasn’t the one to call them to Stone Henge? Would he have become a Roman anyway? Would he be alive? The TARDIS exploding had caused the cracks through time but what if River wasn’t on the TARDIS at the time. Would it have been hijacked anyway? 

What if Mells hadn’t told Amy stories of goblins and ghosts? He had always thought that those tales scared her; perhaps they just made her more courageous. Could his daughter even exist if River Song wasn't River Song? Would he exist? The questions are too vast, the possible connotations too terrifying. His brow furrows as he mentally tries to work backwards and forwards through time simultaneously. 

’I don't know if it can be changed now because, you know, I've seen it happen.' He continues the conversation he’s been having with himself aloud and River stills, tries to grasp at the empty space that preceded the statement. 

'Seen what happen?'

'The time and space thing; never got the hang of it really. Amy's different. Two thousand consecutive years will do that to you I suppose.'

'Rory?' She tries a greeting that's hopefully more familiar, 'Are you all right? Does something happen to you, to Amy?' 

Rory discards his cone over the railing relinquishing both it and his current train of thought to the waves below. 'I'm. I'm fine, we... I... why is this so bloody difficult?' He looks at her not really hoping for an answer, 'He's dangerous.' 

'Maybe you missed the conditioned assassin, psychopath, killer, prison conversation?' She smiles at him, raising an eyebrow and depositing the rest of the waffle in her mouth to punctuate the point.

'Look River. I know you can take care of yourself but I've seen what he does. He... you-don't-need-to-fall-in-love-with-him.' 

'Don't you think we're a little bit past all that?'

'That's not what I'm saying.' 

River drops the pretence and sits up a little straighter. 'Rory, there's clearly something on your mind. Just, tell me.'

'You once told me, will tell me, that you live for the days you see him,' he glances over his shoulder to clarify; watching the Doctor "investigate" a crab on the beach. 'But you keep meeting in reverse. It must be hell to watch someone slowly slip away from you as you fall deeper in love with them.' He watches as Amy spreads a towel on the sand atop what appears to be the battlement of a half constructed French renaissance castle. 'You don't have to do it, just because that's what's expected if you,' turning back towards her he places a hand in her shoulder, firm and steady. His eyes find hers and he tries to convey everything in that one look, that one brief moment of contact.  
'You don't have to be River Song.' 

'Again, don't you think it's a bit late for that?' River snorts not unkindly.

'Yes...No, I mean. What did he say to you? When he told you to find River Song?'

'Now father dear, I would never kiss and tell,'

Rory continues as if she has said anything. 'He's a master manipulator, and I'm sure he cares, in his own way. I just don't want a hard life for you. I don't want you to run forever.' He deflates slightly, as it the courage to tell her had been the only thing keeping him upright. River, doesn't reply.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

The Helter-skelter's spiral stairs case looked oddly familiar, Romanian perhaps; and if the outside was sun kissed with red and yellow strips of veneer cracked like a dry watering hole, inside was a different story. He had an eye for detail, always had. Shame it only extended to objects, and acquaintances.. and people he had only met five minutes ago. 

Evidently, he had deemed the classical wooden interior somewhat lacking. The first level appeared to be a replica the Lello Bookshop in Porto, Portugal. Plush red carpets with crescent shaped steps that looked like ripples on a pond; perhaps built for Amelia, the bannister leaves the faint smell of Mr. Sheen on her fingers. 

The second, a replica of a Gothic Revival staircase in the Hungarian Parliament, Budapest, all geometric squares and intricate architrave. A staircase she remembers traversing in flamboyant skirts, at speed, whilst re-appropriating a piece of silverware to fact check a piece on class culture in 1897. 

The third appeared to contain no staircase at all, just a blank white space where a construct should exist and hand shaped impression visible on the wall. River slid her hand into the imprint. Small flecks of gold and silver started to shimmer and rotate in an invisible wind, adhering themselves to previously unseen construct; programmable glitter that had a small biological imperative to find spirals and settle, she surmised stepping quickly through the maze to the level above, her hair glistening with confused fragments that followed her intent on their goal. 

Every level contained something new; the black opal steps of the Shadow Proclamation building, the spinning steel construct on Ryannis prime; all recreated. River climbed, placing her hand on cool stone and tempered steel. The tower is much higher than she initially suspects and there's no guardrail. 

A pile of hessian sacks sit stacked in a neat pile, she plucks one from the stack and lays it flat, the flap facing inwards. Sitting River tucks her feet into the flap and pushes herself back; her knees acting as an anchor, her head sinks back to rest on the slides wooden slats. Some small particles of gold and silver cascade from her curls seeking larger structures, others seem content to stay. That's how he finds her.

'About to rush headlong into danger Doctor Song? ' The voice comes from somewhere near her feet. 

'Allowing for friction and mass I hardly think 4.1 meters a second is rushing,' he sees the periphery of her shrug as is travels up her torso. 'Have you both come to your senses or am I going to have to break out if here? I can you know.'

'Don't doubt it for a moment,' he picks up a sack and fiddles with the cord turning it over in his hands. 'River, I want to, show you something,'

'Oh, getting a little forward in your old age aren't you?' 

'What? No, not that!' 

'Is it ever going to difficult to make you blush?'

'How can you tell?'

'You're reflecting off the sentient sparkles,'

'Ahh,' he says watching a small flurry cascade from her shoulders. 

'Have you ever noticed that a Helter-Skelter looks remarkably, Dalek-like?' She, watches the white flag atop flutter softly, turning in with absence of wind. 

'Brilliant isn't it? A Dalek with a white flag and a slide.'

'Unnerving more like. Although it's static, kinda like that.' She lifts her feet and starts to slide slowly away from him. He thinks that it always seems to end this way; the two of them falling away from each other. Cascading through time and space, close but never close enough. With one swift movement he has sat on her ankles and spread his feet against the side of the structure a damn against the torrent. River props herself up her elbows and he extends a hand towards her, she doesn't take it.

'Just what do you think you’re doing?'

'Stopping you from falling… sliding.'

'And you think you have the right to do that?'

'This is one of those arguments I can’t win isn’t it? 'As he watches he can see her deflate both physically and mentally. Her calf flexes under his thigh. 

'Where have you been? Three years Doctor. For three years I made sure. I was back in my cell, every night Doctor. Even with time travel, that's not easy. I didn't expect... but. You're you, I suppose.'

Every decision makes ripples, like a boulder dropping into a lake he thinks. Slowly, he takes off his bow tie and reaching forward finds her fingers, interlacing them with his own he gently pulls. River sits up looking from their conjoined hands to the small blue piece of cloth dangling loosely around his neck.

'Fairly sure we've done that bit already sweetie. I'm in prison remember, and the lines around your eyes are a dead giveaway.' 

He says nothing, but reached up with his right hand removes the bow tie. He takes the fabric, trapping one end in between their palms and starts wrapping the remaining length around their hands. She raises an eyebrow. 

'You do realize I could very easily slip out of this don't you?' 

'It's a symbol River,'

'Of what? How handcuffs are vastly superior to fragments of fabric? Worked that out a long time ago.' She mutters, eyes fixed on the blue strip. 

'River, just listen. Please.'

'I'm captivated.' 

Not that she would ever tell him but she is captivated. His hand feeds the fabric and he uses his fingers to smooth it across her skin. The silk touches her wrist and loops up to graze her fingers on the opposite side. It travels across his knuckles and loops back to catch her thumb. He loops it three times then tucks it between their palms; carefully he pulls it through the space between their index fingers. He picks up the thread and weaves it tightly around her ring finger. It's only then she realises that he's weaving their timeline. The times where they touch, the occasions where they pass each other for a brief moment, the times when he's alone. All of them linked by TARDIS blue. He takes great care to only let the strands cross where they are supposed to. Some bands are tighter than others; others contain a certain amount of wiggle room. Glancing at her he lets the remaining fabric fall and tucks it between their palms. River flexes her hand, testing. 

'The origins of hand fasting they say are lost to time. I know differently, nothing is lost to time if you go back far enough.' He runs a finger over the silk on the back of her hand and her breath catches The Doctor makes a twist in the fabric; first in her side, then on his, and pauses. 

'Pagans believed it meant that two people became bound to each other; that the unbroken line signified a promise. A promise made on both sides, to be there for each other, always,' he moves his finger from and slides it from one end of the silk to the other. 

'With you and me River it's always been complicated. The Time Lords knew. They saw the difficulties of a non-linear marriage.' He glances up at her, peering between his fringe and catches her eye. 

‘I often forget your human you know,’ he admits; so quietly she has to inch forward to hear him. 

‘Mostly,’ she replies. ‘I still don’t know exactly how they altered my physiological makeup, have some good guesses though.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says simply. 

River shrugs ‘I don’t need you to feel sorry for me Doctor.’ 

‘I know,’ he says, hands still traversing over the silk, as if he is mentally travelling the path, reliving the events symbolised as a blue line ‘You see these twists? They’re fixed points. This one,’ he points to one on the back of his own wrist ‘was a treaty made with the Gelf, messy business really. Always problematic dealing with non-corporeal entities, I never know if they’re looking a bit shifty. And this,’ his finger travels to a twist on the back of her hand, parallel to the other. ‘Is that nasty business you had with the Cnidarian.’

‘How do you know about that?’ 

‘News travels, and I had the great fortune of meeting R’tk’tk. I do speak Dolphin you know?’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ 

‘You see River, sometimes I need you here.’ He moves his hand closer towards his chest bringing her with him, ‘And sometimes, sometimes other’s need you,’ he strokes the fixed point on her wrist. She nods her understanding and scoots closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

‘Just don’t leave it so damn long next time.’ She says into his shirt. ‘If you do I may just have to go and find other versions of you who aren’t so elusive,’ she feels the chuckle rise in his chest before she hears it and smiles. 

‘Good luck with that. I’m not always so amenable, or handsome,’ he shifts his feet so they are wrapped around her. ‘Just go easy on me.’ 

‘Oh, I can't promise that,’ she says, lifting her feet. ‘Always been a sucker for playing a little fast and loose.’

‘River, what are you doing?’ he attempts to grasp the slide as they start to fall backwards, gathering momentum.

‘Looks like I’m falling for you all over again Sweetie.’ She says.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Later, after apologies had been uttered between breathless kisses and the bed sheets lay crumpled and forgotten on the floor River relinquished her diary from her satchel. Scanning the bedroom she finds her robe is conspicuously missing, not wanting to wake him with too much rummaging she grabs his coat instead and pads barefoot to the console room. There is another deserving of her apologies tonight. 

The time rota flashes blue and green waves across the surfaces, reminiscent of the Lucile nebula and she places a palm on the console. The TARDIS humms a response, mutual apology accepted, and River sits. Her back rests on the console and she opens her diary to new page. The pencil feels solid between her fingers, although she prefers charcoal for sketching. 

Wrapped tightly in his coat, the soothing sounds of the TARDIS filling the air between each heart beat she starts to write. She writes of crashing space ships and her beloved idiot, of Sontarens and seagulls, of arguments and resolutions. She writes of her love for him and his need for her, of the promise she has to live up to. The promise she made to keep their time line in tact, to not stray from the path he had shown her but part of. She's useful, he needs her to useful. He needs her to be steadfast and that's what she'll be. She writes of his whispered 'I love you,' as they collapsed atop each other at the bottom of the slide, his elbow prodding her broken rib, both of them laughing and her hope that it might be true someday. She writes about her mother and father and promises to visit them soon. 

The lights dim and her lids feel heavy her chin resting on the collar of his coat. Closing the diary she falls to sleep, safe in the TARDIS and the promise of days to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's for sticking with me on this one. I know I'm slow but hopefully it's worth it.
> 
> Feel free to Come and say hi on Tumblr dr-r-song


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